


Missing Pieces

by indigo (indigo_angels)



Series: Mission Arc [11]
Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 17:04:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17708237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_angels/pseuds/indigo
Summary: Eighteen months into his new team, Face needs to step up once more when Hannibal goes missing. He's not going to let him go that easily though...





	Missing Pieces

Face stalked across the dusty camp, his expression grim and furious, and Murdock fell in line with him, almost jogging to keep up with the blistering pace. “Well?” he asked and ignored the furious glare that Face sent his way.

 

“Well, what?” he responded hotly. “What did you think Murdock? You think I was gonna roll over and let them confine us to camp?”

 

Murdock let Face’s tone slide right off him, he knew him well enough by now that he understood how pissy Face got with everyone when he was angry or worried, and right now he was about as angry and worried as Murdock had ever seen him. “Course not buddy,” he answered easily, “I just wanted to know if we were goin’ out with or without the General’s permission.”

 

Face let out a grim laugh and a little of the angry tension slipped away. “With,” he said shortly, “and we’re leaving as soon as, so go get BA ready.” Murdock flipped off a quick salute which Face always found really, really awkward since the man outranked him, but he just shook his head and continued over to the tent they always used for planning to have one last look over the maps.

 

He hadn’t lied to Murdock at all, the General _had_ said they could go looking for the boss, but he also said that he didn’t want them to, just wasn’t stupid enough to order them not to when he knew they’d go anyway, said he didn’t want Face making him look like a jackass. So the deal was this: yes, they could go, yes they could take whatever they needed in terms of back up and resources, after all, Hannibal was his dear friend. However, and at this point he had leaned over the desk and stared right into Face’s eyes, if there was any _bullshit_ as a result of their activities, any of the usual crap that Face liked to involve himself in, then it was all coming down on his own damn head. Face had nodded, saluted smartly and walked out; he could handle that any day, no problem. In fact, the General probably didn’t realise it, but he had just freed Face up to do whatever the hell he liked here, safe in the knowledge that none of the repercussions would land on Hannibal or the rest of the team.

 

_____________________

 

“You sure about that?” BA asked again, squinting at the map that Face had laid out in front of them. “I mean, talk in the Mess is that a patrol musta picked him up.”

 

Face shook his head and bit back his impatience to get going. “Positive,” he replied to BA and he was. “No one has seen a patrol within fifty clicks of where Hannibal was going, not for weeks. And if the military had him, we’d have heard something by now, they’d have been crowing about how they got themselves a Colonel from every rooftop in that damn hovel.”

 

BA nodded, convinced by Face’s logic and looked back at the map of the little town spread out over the table. “And you pretty sure he’s still there?” he asked, nodding at the image.

 

“These men aren’t trained,” Face reassured him, “and we know what the boss is capable of. However they caught him, they’re not going to take the risk of moving him unnecessarily. I mean, they might run into to one of our patrols, or a Taliban one, both of which would be pretty disastrous for their ransom demands, right?”

 

“Even though there has been no ransom demand?” Murdock queried gently.

 

“There will be,” Face assured them, “if we don’t find him first.”

 

________________________

 

Face had asked for twenty four men, and had only just managed to keep the look of shock out of his expression when Morrison had given him forty eight. “Just bring him back, son,” he’d said quietly as he walked into the back of Face’s briefing.

 

He’d never briefed so many men before, but Face found that in his preoccupation with getting Hannibal back, with filling that space in his bed and his heart, he wasn’t at all nervous. He went through the job, showed each team where they would start, which abodes they would search and exactly what they were looking for. He warned them about false floors and tiny rooms in the roof space, mentioned wood stores and goat pens, waste pits and pig sties. If Hannibal was still in Maḥmūd-e Rāqī, and Face was fairly certain he was, then they were going to find him. Tonight.

 

He finished up his brief, ran over a few questions from the men, and then split them up into their teams and just as the sun slipped away behind the mountains, plunging the plains into darkness, they were ready.

 

________________________

 

Face’s team took the area he thought most likely to hold the boss and they struck with brutal surprise. He’d stressed, over and over, in his briefing, how the key here was the shock value. How, the kidnappers would never in a million years dream that the US army would try and raid the whole damn settlement in one go, and that, Face had explained, was what gave them the edge. He’d also laboured the point that this was a civilian settlement, that the men who had taken Hannibal were most likely to be civilian also, and as such should be treated like that; he reminded them who they were going to get, and asked them to think what _he_ would think about any civilian loss of life made in his name.

 

It was a subdued company of men who climbed into the transport that night, but, by the way that Morrison had caught his eye and nodded as Face hauled himself into the front vehicle, he knew he’d done a good job with the plan and the brief.

 

Forcing himself to concentrate on the job at hand, Face kicked in the door of the fourth residence he had searched so far and started shouting the usual orders in Pashto. “US Army, we mean you no harm. We need to search your property, get down on the floor, get down on the floor!” And all around him he could hear the same shouts, the same frightened screaming women, the same crying children and panicked livestock. An edge of guilt niggled at him, but he pushed it back again. No one was going to get hurt, he trusted his men here,  and knew that the worst these people would lose would be a night’s sleep, and anyway, he reminded himself as he tested the floorboards under his feet, these were the people they were here to protect, what the hell were they thinking, taking Hannibal like that? Wanting to ransom him off?

 

_______________________

 

Fourteen hovels later and it was starting to get light, Face’s team were the first to finish scouring their set region, and frustratedly, had come up empty handed. “What now LT?” Sergeant Rogers asked him as the rest of the team lounged against a pig pen, eating and drinking their rations and looking cold and exhausted. Face himself couldn’t believe it, he’d been sure, so, _so_ sure that the boss was in Maḥmūd-e Rāqī , and with the way he’d divided the town up, he’d been almost as sure that they were the ones who would find him.

 

“Right,” he replied firmly, his mind whirring in thought. Hannibal was here, he _was_ , Face just knew it, he could damn well _feel_ it. They must have missed him, there must have been a shed or a cellar or a fucking cupboard they had missed somehow ; they needed to start all over again, restart their search, go back into the houses they’d already raided as they obviously hadn’t looked hard enough. 

 

“LT?” Rogers prompted and Face ran a hand through his hair and glanced back at his team, his heart sinking as he took in their slumped posture, their sunken eyes and he knew that they weren’t going to be searching anywhere right now.

 

He sighed. “Do a sweep of the perimeter on your way out, and then get those boys back to base so they can get some sleep. Okay?”

 

Rogers didn’t move. “Face,” he said quietly, “you sure about that? You know what they all think of Hannibal, no one is gonna mind a double shift.”

 

But Face knew it was more than a double shift, knew that most of them had already been out the whole of the day before on their own manoeuvres, patrols, missions, knew they were already exhausted. Forcing himself to brighten, Face slapped him arm on the shoulder, “Of course!” he replied with false cheer. “One of the other teams will have him, they’ll be checking in any minute now, just you wait and see.”

 

Rogers watched him quietly for a minute and then nodded, still unconvinced. “Okay then,” he acquiesced, and with a quick salute turned back to his men.

 

Face didn’t linger, leaving his men to make their way back to camp, he set off to look for Zeta team.

 

______________________

 

It was late afternoon by the time that the last team, Delta, had finished, and only Murdock and BA remained from the other teams. Their small group of eleven stood around just outside the town borders and Captain Price who’d led Delta held his hands out apologetically to Face. “I’m sorry, Face. I swear we turned the place upside down, there’s no way we missed him.”

 

“I know, I know...” Face responded absently, rubbing at his aching temples with his fingers. “I just don’t get it. I _know_ he’s here...”

 

Price and BA, who knew each other from way back, exchanged frustrated shrugs, but any further conversation was interrupted by the sound of a transport rolling up to take them home. Face glanced up and frowned at the jeep that had arrived. “Hey!” he shouted over at the driver with more than a snip of annoyance in his voice, “that’s not gonna fit everyone in!”

 

“No, sir!” the young grunt replied, “Another on its way, sir! ETA ten minutes, sir!”

 

Face just rolled his eyes at the over enthusiastic responses and started pushing Murdock and BA towards the jeep. “You guys go,” he said tiredly, “I’ll wait with Price, Harris and Robinson, and we’ll get the next one.”

 

BA nodded and started trudging towards the jeep with the majority of Price’s men, but Murdock stayed, hovering nervously at Face’s elbow, not wanting to leave him behind. “Face...” he started, plaintively.

 

“Buddy,” Face gripped his arm, “you go back with the big guy, right? Get some sleep. We’ll get back together at 0600, go over the options, think what to do next, okay?” Face, of course, had no intention of returning to camp, none at all, and he also knew that out of everyone involved in this mess, only Murdock and BA would have the guts to call him out on that – and that’s why he needed them gone.

 

Murdock looked far from convinced, and Face had to work hard to keep his expression from slipping, but eventually he nodded, and as Face winked at him, turned and jumped into the jeep even as it was setting off, standing on the side runner, holding onto the roll bars and staring hard at Face as they bounced off across the dust.  

 

“You heard the rumours?” Price asked, as he and Face were watching the jeep getting smaller and smaller in the distance.

 

“Yeah,” Face sighed. “They true?” All night and all day long it was all he’d heard, the story of the three village boys killed by a stray mortar as they returned to the village with the goats. How Hannibal had been taken in revenge for that, that there was to be no ransom demand, this was an eye for an eye, a desperate act by a desperate family.

 

“I’m afraid so. We heard tell of it last week when we were patrolling out here.”

 

Face sighed, but he wasn’t about the let the boss pay the price for someone else’s mistake. “No wonder they don’t fucking trust us,” he muttered under his breath, “when we blow their fucking kids up...” he ran his hands over his face. “I _told_ the boss not to come out here.” But Hannibal had just smiled at him, and reminded him how important it was that they win these people over, that they weren’t the enemy, just men and woman frightened for their lives and the lives of their families, terrified people wanting to trust. _Yeah,_ Face thought grimly, and that’s why they blew the tyres of Hannibal’s jeep out, shot his escort dead and took him off who knew where. He shook his head, everywhere he looked in this god damn country there were victims.

 

The sound of another engine yanked him from his thoughts and he watched as a Stryker rolled up, and as Price’s men wandered over towards their ride, the back door flipped open and Rogers, along with the rest of Face’s Alpha team quickly disembarked. “Lieutenant, sir!” Rogers greeted Face briskly as he walked over, “Me and the guys noticed you hadn’t come back yet and so we thought you might be able to use some extra hands out here over night. Sir?”

 

Face didn’t know what to say, he had been planning on staying alone, maybe hiding out somewhere and hoping that they would decide to move the boss once night fell, but now he had back up, another team... well there was no reason they couldn’t start the search again after all. He smiled, but Rogers noticed how tired and drawn it was, then clapped him on the shoulder once again, “You know what, Rogers?” he said quietly, “I think I can find just the job for us.”

 

_________________

 

The night was long, and Face realised that it marked his third in a row without sleep, no wonder he felt like shit. But worse than that, worse than the headache and the dizziness and the trembling that sporadically affected his limbs, were the empty houses they kept turning up again and again and again.

 

“Goddamnit!” he yelled and swung his foot out to kick the fence of a makeshift goat pen as they finished searching the twenty-fifth dwelling of their night. “Where the fuck is he?!”

 

Rogers just looked on in silence and Face felt the eyes of not only the rest of his team, but also an assembled crowd of onlookers on him and knew that he had to get a grip here. He stopped, forced some deep breaths into his lungs and turned away, staring without seeing at the barren rocky mountains that were just visible as the sky lightened behind them. His mind was a swirling vortex of doubts and horrific possibilities, but running through it all was a vein of appalling inevitability – some time, some day, this had always been scheduled to happen. Hannibal was the very best thing that had ever happened to Face, and he was aware enough to realise that, for most people their ‘Hannibal’ never came along at all, so of course it was never going to last. It was always destined to end like this, leaving Face broken-hearted and alone, unable to live in the desert after all of his time in the Garden of Eden. And now, it even looked like his desperate wish that they would at least die together wouldn’t be granted either.

 

 “Time to look elsewhere?” Rogers’ voice broke into his thoughts and Face rounded on him, all attempts for a grip flying out of the window at the quiet suggestion.

 

“Hey, Face!” a familiar voice barked out, just as he was about to tell Rogers what he thought of his suggestion and Face spun on the spot to see Murdock and BA behind him, identical scowls in place, the rising sun painting their clean clothes delicate shades of pink.

 

“We missed you at breakfast, sucker...” BA growled threateningly but Murdock pushed him back.

 

“Face,” he stepped up close so no one else could hear them and grabbed a handful of the lacing at the side of Face’s body armour, hauling him even closer. “Have you been here all fucking night?” his voice a lethal hiss.

 

But Face just closed his eyes. The language spewing from Murdock’s mouth was a measure of how pissed he was with him, Murdock didn’t swear that often at all, but Face was finding it hard to care. His head was thumping, his eyes felt like they had razor blades in them and he couldn’t even feel his feet as they hit the floor when he walked. “He’s here,” he said quietly, opening his red rimmed eyes again and staring at Murdock, beseeching him to understand, “I know he is.”

 

Murdock studied him for a few seconds. “You need some sleep,” he said firmly. “Have you even been eating?”

 

“He’s here!” Face repeated, he repeated, eyes growing wild as he shook Murdock’s hand off his side.

 

It was a tense moment, Rogers and his men looked on, knowing that Murdock was right, knowing that Face was creeping closer and closer to the edge with every second. “The General has ordered you to return to base,” Murdock told him quietly, making damn sure the words didn’t carry to their audience. “He’s gonna have your ass if you don’t go.”

 

“I don't. Fucking. Care!” Face hissed back, “I’m not going! He’s _here_ Murdock, I’m telling you he’s here!”

 

“An’ I believe you,” Murdock responded quietly, “but you can’t go on indefinitely buddy, you just can’t.”

 

It was the use of that familiar term that finally got through to Face and Murdock saw the second his shoulders dipped, just a fraction. “Come on,” he said, grabbing a filthy wrist tight in his own hand, “let’s just withdraw a little, we’ve brought some breakfast with us, and then we can talk, decide what we’re gonna do next.”

 

Face let himself be tugged until they were just outside of the perimeter fence yet again, and everyone dropped to the ground helping themselves to the ration packs that BA and Murdock had brought, but Face refused to sit. “Why haven’t we found him?” he asked as he marched up and down in front of his team mates, an untouched breakfast roll in his hand. “They have just about admitted that they’ve taken him, so why the fuck haven’t we found him? Where the hell else could they be hiding him?”

 

“Sit down, man,” BA muttered, Face’s pacing making him dizzy, “before you fall down.”

 

Face ignored him. “He’s here,” he chanted almost to himself as he paced, “he’s here. I _know_ he’s fucking here...”

 

“Okay, Face,” Murdock eventually said, standing in front of his friend in a vain attempt to stop the pacing. “ _You_ are going back to base and me an’ BA will-”

 

But Face was already shaking his head, “No,” he said firmly, “just no, Murdock. No fucking way.”

 

“Face, you need to rest...”

 

Still the pacing continued. “Murdock don’t you get it? The second we leave here, the _second_ we get into that Stryker,” he pointed over his shoulder. “They will dig the boss out from wherever the fuck they have him and _they will kill him_. Don’t you see that?!” Face was absolutely livid.

 

“You go,” Murdock repeated, “me and the big guy will stay, we aint gonna let anything happen to him either, Face.”

 

“No.”

 

“Don’t you trust us, bud?” Murdock challenged quietly, but Face just looked at him, his red rimmed eyes wide.

 

“Murdock,” he whispered, “this is _Hannibal_!” and the pain in his voice was almost more than Murdock could take.

 

They all retreated into silence once more. Face still pacing up and down, the untouched food in his fist, Murdock, BA and Rogers all watching him in silence, while a couple of the other guys made themselves comfortable on the ground and closed their eyes. Murdock was out of ideas now, all that was left was to wait until he eventually collapsed in a heap on the ground, which in all honesty couldn’t be too far off now anyway, or ask BA to do the honours and speed that conclusion along. And as far as Hannibal was concerned and what they hell to do about that... well, he had even less of an idea than Face.

 

“Maybe we should try a little bit of gentle ‘persuasion’ on the locals?” Rogers eventually suggested and Murdock knew he was only voicing the thoughts that a number of the men had been having since they arrived out here.

 

Face stopped at those words and looked carefully at Rogers, and then out across the arid landscape at two young girls walking slowly towards them, buckets of water balanced precariously on their heads. Murdock’s heart started thumping as he watched Face zero right in on them, thoughts of Face in a Russian forest the last time they’d lost Hannibal, scrambling unwanted up to the front of his mind; beside him, BA slowly climbed to his feet and knew that he too was back in that forest.

 

The girls came closer, aware of the troops now, and obviously hurrying, keeping their eyes down as they carried their load of precious water back to water their livestock, even as Face took a step in their direction. “Those girls...” he said quietly and Murdock felt BA tense next to him.

 

“Face...” he said warningly, but Face ignored him.

 

Rogers climbed to his feet, his own expression anxious and the men lifted their heads, aware now that something was going on. “Not a kid though, sir,” he said quietly, watching Face starring intently at the two girls still walking towards them, “we can’t hurt a kid...”

 

But it was like Face didn’t even hear him. “Those girls...” he repeated, and before anyone could do anything to prevent him, he was off.

 

He sprinted flat out across the scrub, exhaustion forgotten, eating up the meters between them in seconds. Murdock and BA started up after him, both of them yelling at him to stop, but he soon passed the water carriers by and continued along the dusty track they had just taken, making both the girls stop and turn, watching as he ran away from the village, away from them.

 

In thirty seconds he was there, the wooden cover of the well, worn and dusty, but still doing its job in keeping wild animals and small children from falling in. He grabbed it around the rotten edges and hauled it up, throwing it to one side as he dropped to his knees at the edge. “Hannibal!” he yelled into the darkness, and tried hard to hold back the despair as silence greeted his cry. He looked around, frantically trying to jimmy his torch out of his pocket and then froze, seeing the wooden beam suspended about a foot down inside the well, stretching from side to side, and more than that, much more than that, the chain wrapped around it – the bright shining _new_ chain.

 

Face abandoned the torch and dropped to his stomach, reaching down to grab the chain with both hands. He pulled, and was ridiculously relieved to find it heavy, too heavy for his sleep and food starved body to move but he tried anyway, pulling until he thought his muscles would burst.

 

“Move!” came the rough voice from behind him, and recognising how totally ineffective his struggles were being anyway, Face did just that, rolling to the side as BA and Rogers both took his place, leaning down and grabbing the chain, hauling it up with surprising ease. Face reached down into the darkness and was aware of Murdock, on Rogers’ left doing exactly the same thing. And then, suddenly appearing out of the black, Face saw a flash of silvery grey, and then some more, and as BA and Rogers continued to heave on the chain, Face and Murdock reached down and both grabbed a cold arm.

 

In a minute, Hannibal was hauled out into the early morning sun, and Face scrambled around on his knees in the dirt until he was pressed up next to him. His frantic eyes took in the white waxy skin, the closed eyes and chains around his wrists that had held him suspended in the frigid water all this time, while he groped about in the crease of the boss’ neck, looking for that tell tale fluttering that would mean that all of this hadn’t been in vain.

 

And thank God, there it was. “Got a pulse,” he said, his own words filing him with a sense of relief so sharp it made him sway and then Murdock was there, taking over, calling to Hannibal as Face heard the Stryker rumbling their way.

 

A hand on his face startled him and Face blinked himself out of his trance to find Murdock staring right at him. “We need to get these wet clothes off him,” he quickly instructed Face once he was sure he had his attention, and Face glanced down again as BA starting cutting through the cuffs to free his wrists.

 

Face took his knife out and held it above Hannibal’s chest, stopping and staring in appalled shock as he noticed how much his hand was shaking. He looked up at Murdock, and without a word the pilot took the knife from him quickly slit through Hannibal’s sopping wet clothing, before peeling it all away exposing the chilled flesh underneath. Face instantly pulled back and stripped off his body armour and his layers, stopping his hands from shaking just enough to be able to redress Hannibal in his t-shirt and fleece, even as Murdock was wrapping a tied dyed sarong type robe around his legs, trying to trap in as much warmth in as he could.

 

“Get him in the Stryker,” Face ordered, finding it a little hard to stagger to his feet until Murdock grabbed his arm and hauled him up and he was just turning to follow the boss into the back of the carrier, when Rogers prodded him hard in the ribs.

 

“LT...” he hissed, and Face looked up the way the Sergeant was staring, his heart dropping into his boots at the hoard of villagers he saw heading their way.

 

“Shit,” he murmured before narrowing his eyes and quickly making his decisions. “BA, get him in there, keep him safe. Murdock, get on the wire to base, tell them we might need some back-up.” He looked around, his eyes falling on two of Rogers’ men, “Christie and Banjo,” he barked, “get up there and get those M2s ready to roll, everyone else, ready and waiting, but you _wait_ for my mark, _do not_ engage without a definite order, is everyone clear on that?” there was a chorus of ‘yes, sirs’ and then they all stepped back a little, all except Rogers who stayed at Face’s side as they waited; Face standing tall and unafraid as the hoard approached the well, his bare chest an open invitation to any sniper within a two km radius.

 

He stood still and silent, forcing an ease into his posture he certainly didn’t feel and waited while the little band of villagers approached them. The nearer they came, the more despondent Face felt. Until, when they were almost right upon them, his heart sank as he saw their crude weaponry, the old Russian handguns, ancient shotguns and an assortment of stolen automatics, all needed out here to protect themselves from bandits and insurgents. He knew they would never be able to overwhelm all of his troops out here, but if anyone started shooting - people were going to die, on both sides of this mess.

 

Then one man stepped forward, obviously taking the role of spokesman for the group and Face eyed him up, could see he was scared, and knew that scared men made the most dangerous of enemies.

 

“We can’t let you leave,” the spokesman said in quiet English and Face frowned, surprised that anyone out here spoke English at all.

 

“We _are_ leaving,” he replied steadily, putting every ounce of authority that he could into those words. “We have an injured man, thanks to you. He needs medical attention quickly.”

 

But the man just shook his head. “You leave and we know you will be back, airstrikes, tanks, whatever, you will blow us all up in revenge for your man.”

 

For a second Face faltered, thinking of Hannibal and the three days he’d spent suspended inside that well, wondering if he’d ever see a friendly face again. And of course he knew that the whole village must have known he was there, every one of them, every man, woman and child and not one of them spoke up to Face or any of his men. Hate bubbled up inside him as he thought of wiping them all out like that in a flash of missiles.

 

But then he looked around and saw that it wasn’t just the men who had followed them out here, but the women and the children and they were all staring at him, one common emotion on every single face, and it wasn’t hate, no, not at all, it was _fear_. He took a deep breath, hoped to hell his grasp of Pashto was enough to stop the bloodshed he could feel coming and addressed them all. “There will be no revenge!” he told them, loud and clear. “Too many people have suffered already. We are both fighting on the same side here! No revenge. This. Stops. Here. Understand?”

 

There was a wave of muttering and whispering among the people, and Face had to blink hard to stave off the dizziness he could feel reaching out to grab him.

 

“How can we trust you?” their spokesman said and Face could almost taste the tension in the air.   

 

“Because I am an officer of the United States army,” he replied firmly, “and my word can be trusted.” His heart sank as he saw the unconvinced expressions that stared back at him and knew they needed something more. “And anyway,” he continued, stepping away from Rogers and dropping his M4 on the ground at his feet. He took another step, leaving his M9 behind and then another and his extra ammo hit the dirt at his feet.

 

“Face...”

 

He ignored Murdock’s warning tone and took yet another step in until he was right in front of the hoard of villagers and spread his hands out, baring his chest to them all, “I trust _you_ , you let us walk out of here without trouble and we’ll do the same for you.”

 

For a second, no one moved, no one even seemed to breathe and then the spokesman turned to the men behind him and they conversed in hurried frantic voices that Face had no hope of being able to understand. He was more than aware of all the guns trained on his unprotected chest, and knew damn well that if anyone one those villagers pulled their trigger, deliberately or otherwise, then the men behind him would react with lightening speed. It wouldn’t be enough to save him, but it would be enough to trigger a massacre the likes of which hadn’t been seen for years. That knowledge weighed for more heavily on him than the thought of his own demise. At least Hannibal would be safe though, he comforted himself, the Stryker could resist anything that anyone here threw at it, and anyway, he trusted BA to make sure that no one even got close enough to try.

 

Eventually the hurried confab before him finished and the spokesman turned back. Face felt like the entire world was holding his breath as the man stepped forward and slowly reached out with his own empty hand. Face didn’t even pause for a second, but reached out and took it and the two men shook firmly. “It ends,” he told Face sharply, and then with muttered commands to his people, they all turned around and made their way back to the village.

 

Face watched them go, and then he let out a sigh, a huge sigh of relief and hung his head, thinking what an absolute fucking disaster that could have turned into, then he remembered Hannibal and what needed to be done still and whirled back on the spot, barking instructions as he did, and making his way to the back of the Stryker.

 

_____________________

 

In an hour they were back at the base, Hannibal hadn’t stirred or made a sound at all, not even when Face, shielded in the back of the Stryker by Murdock and BA, held his hand and stroked him and begged him to be alright. A team of medics was already waiting as the back door swung down and before Face could force his tired and aching body back into life, Hannibal had been whisked away from him, Murdock at his side, his voice, calmly telling the doctors what they knew about the boss’ condition. He struggled to get to his feet and then lurched unsteadily down the ramp, BA’s iron grip on his bare bicep the only thing stopping him from pitching face first into the dust.

 

“Take it easy, Face,” BA murmured, hauling him up onto unsteady feet. “You can’t expect to run ‘round on no sleep or food for four days without feelin’ it you know.”

 

Face didn’t reply, he hardly even heard, he was only aware of BA steering him towards the entrance of the MASH, and being in there with Hannibal was all he cared about anyway. The big guy kept him in a firm grip and propelled them both down the corridor, making sure no one got in their way, pushing aside the doors that Face seemed oblivious too, until they got to the tiny curtained off waiting area where Murdock was already perched on the edge of a chair, nervously drumming his fingers on the side of his knee.

 

BA almost stumbled as Face jammed the brakes on and they stopped – dead. “Where is he?” Face asked, looking around the tiny waiting area in disgust, Murdock rose slowly to his feet.

 

“We can’t be with him right now,” he said calmly, almost like he was talking to a frightened puppy. “They will come and get us as soon as they can.”

 

“Fuck that,” Face muttered and turned on his heel, walking straight into BA’s massive frame.

 

“Sit down,” BA growled at him, but Face didn’t move. “Sit down, sucker, or I’ll make you!” he repeated but the only response he got was a narrowing of Face’s eyes.

 

“Do I need to order you out of my way, BA?” he asked, quietly and lethally, but before BA could respond, Murdock was there, grabbing hold of Face’s shoulders and turning him away from the building confrontation.

 

“You aint goin’ in there, Face,” he told him gently, “and you try and make a fuss and they’ll throw you out on your ear an’ then what good you gonna be to Hannibal, hey? When he wakes up he’s gonna want to see you, gonna want you there with him, right? So don’t let him down, stay here and wait and be ready when he needs you.”

 

For a second, Face’s eyes lit up in anger and Murdock thought he was going to have fight on his hands, but then, frighteningly fast, they were empty, and he sagged, so abruptly that Murdock thought he may have to catch him. “Okay,” he breathed and walked away from the corridor, “okay...”

 

Murdock and BA exchanged a relieved stare before Murdock scuttled across the tiny area to Face’s side, “Here, buddy, come and sit down over here-”

 

“No!” Face’s eyes had that wild edge to them again and Murdock fell silent, unwilling to tip him over the precipice once more.

 

“Allllllright...” he drawled instead, “how about we get you a sandwich? A soda? Some candy?”

 

“A coffee,” Face snapped, “just a coffee. Black.”  

 

Murdock squeezed his arm and nodded at BA who rolled his eyes before ducking out in search of coffee.

 

___________________

 

Face was onto his third plastic cup, and still, incredibly, standing on his own two feet, when the doctor came to look for them.

 

“Did you bring Colonel Smith in?” he asked, his eyes flicking from Face to Murdock to BA and then back again.

 

“Yes,” Face snapped out, turning on the spot to fix him with his intense stare, “how is he?”

 

“In remarkably good shape,” the doctor admitted, “considering what he’s been through. He’s conscious now, and perfectly lucid, just dehydrated and a little cold still.”

 

“Can I see him?” Face asked, stepping forward and the doctor looked him up and down, his eyes narrowing at the stubble on his jaw and the shadows under his eyes, before flicking over his bare torso and coming to rest on his Ranger ink before frowning.

 

“And you are?” Face’s whole expression darkened while Murdock and BA found themselves unconsciously taking a step in towards their XO.

 

“Lieutenant Peck,” Face relied tightly. “Why?”

 

The doctor sighed, “Colonel Smith is demanding to be discharged, even though I have strongly advised against it. He needs more fluids and his temperature requires very careful monitoring.”

 

“We can do that,” Face instantly responded and the doctor sighed again.

 

“And here’s me hoping you would talk him out of his decision,” he shook his head.  “It seems that pig-headedness must run through your unit.” Face narrowed his eyes but Murdock was relieved to see that he kept quiet. “Very well, I’ll need someone to sign for him then,” the doctor huffed out resignedly and held a clip board out in front of him.

 

Face reached out for it, but his knees chose that exact moment to buckle slightly and he stumbled, BA grabbing his arm again to keep him standing, while the doctor just pulled his clipboard away and deepened his frown. “What?” Face snapped, wrenching BA’s hand off him, staggering again as he reached for the clip board once more.

 

“Here, Face, I got it,” Murdock soothed, noting the doctor’s reluctance to let Face sign for Hannibal when he was obviously so near to collapse himself.

 

“Okay, he’s free to leave,” the doctor told them once Murdock had scribbled his name in all the right places. “Just make sure you pick up his meds and a couple more bags of fluid as you leave – any problems bring him straight back. You got that?”

 

“Certainly have oh wise medicine man!” Murdock blurted out; trying to beat the snide retort he could see in Face’s eyes. The doctor just shook his head again and walked out.

 

______________________

 

Face and Hannibal’s reunion was oddly silent, held as it was in front of a ward full of medical staff and injured soldiers. Face had just smiled and offered a fist bump as he approached Hannibal, who was sitting on the side of the bed, patterned sarong still wrapped around his hips, while Hannibal bumped back and said hoarsely, “I think I’m stretching your t-shirt a bit here, kid.”

 

BA brought a jeep around and within ten minutes they were bouncing back across the base and every time Murdock glanced in the rear view mirror, all he could see was his XO and CO trying to look normal whilst constantly sneaking loaded looks at each other.

 

It was a different story when they got back to the tent that the team were sharing, and to the curtained off area that disguised the two cots shoved together that currently made up their sleeping arrangement. The second that BA had closed the canvas entrance and zipped it securely shut, they were on each other, hands in hair, on cheeks, necks, chests any available patch of skin and mouths fused as they kissed, hard and furious and almost violent.

 

Murdock stepped back and looked over his shoulder at BA who rolled his eyes and folded his arms and stood by to wait – and they didn’t have to wait long. Within a minute Face had broken away, stepped back and little and stood, blinking heavily as he looked at Hannibal. The boss frowned and reached for him again, wondering what he was missing, the “Face?” he let out through his lips confused and worried, and then, like a demolished smoke stack, Face went down.

 

No one was fast enough to catch him, no one was quiet near enough, but BA was there in a second, checking him out and wincing at the scrape down the side of his face from the cot side, and Murdock was there as Hannibal reeled, his colour, only recently returned, flooding out of his skin in shock. “Kid?” he whispered, taking a step forward.

 

“It’s okay, bossman,” he soothed, “he’ll be okay. He’s just running on empty, hasn’t slept at all or eaten much since they took you.” Hannibal closed his eyes, painful realisation washing through him. “Come on, let’s get you into bed. Bosco’ll get Face in that side, that’s it.”

 

Face was already stirring, swatting feebly at BA’s attempts to manoeuvre him into the cot and yank off his boots and combats, but within minutes he was settled and turned blindly towards Hannibal just as Hannibal reached for him. There was a few seconds of shuffling and adjusting, before they were sorted, arms wrapped around each other, Hannibal’s head pillowed on Face’s chest. Face pressed a clumsy kiss against Hannibal’s head and the boss responded with one on the dirty skin under his cheek and then, only seconds later, they were both asleep.

 

Murdock busied himself with setting up Hannibal’s drip, hanging it from the frame that was still in the tent from the last brush with death they’d had, then he straightened and he and BA stood for a moment watching them. Eventually, BA’s voice rumbled to break the moment, “Damn fools,” he whispered, his voice rough and choked, “both as god-damn stubborn as each other.”

 

“Yeah,” Murdock answered, but his voice was wistful, maybe a little sad even, “it must be nice, though, to be so wanted, so _needed_...”

 

There was near silence in the little room, only the quiet breaths of their sleeping teammates could be heard.

 

“Come on, Crazy,” BA finally replied, his voice even thicker than before, “you an’ me need a beer an’ we need to park our butts outside this tent, make sure those fools catch up on their sleep.” He slipped his arm around Murdock’s shoulders and the pilot turned to smile at him, then they both withdrew to leave their teammates to it.

 

Back in the tent, safe in the circle of each other, Face and Hannibal slept.


End file.
